


Take Two

by Juxtaposie



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gift Giving, Relationship(s), Romance, also they talk alot, and brief nondescriptive mentions of sex, no such thing as overcommunication, rated for Jug's language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 07:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juxtaposie/pseuds/Juxtaposie
Summary: He could feel his jaw tightening. "You could have just told me.""I know this is the exact wrong thing to say, but you would've just said no."“Because we totally haven't set a precedent for that,” he said, the anger he was feeling finally creeping into his voice."Please," Betty said finally. "I love you. Please, just... trust me."And the best, worst part was, he did.OR - Betty Cooper takes another stab at birthdays.





	Take Two

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick piece and instead wound up being 8k of two kids communicating openly about their relationship and trusting each other.

They were walking home from Pop's on a Tuesday evening, Betty's fingers laced tightly with his own, when she said, "Hey," in that way that meant something was about to happen. 

"Yeah?" Jughead asked when she didn't elaborate. 

She pulled out of his grip, and clasped her hands together under her chin plaintively. "Can I ask you a big favor?"

"Probably," he replied, brow furrowing in suspicion

"Can I borrow FPs truck on Friday?" she asked, biting her lower lip. 

His shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t even realized they were tense. "Is that all?"

Of course this would be a big favor for Betty. Most of the time he could set aside how fundamentally different their upbringings had been, but every once in awhile something like this stood out. It didn't bother him too much anymore, but it was always interesting to note. In Betty's world, you didn't ask for favors like this. You didn't ask to borrow a car. You didn't invite yourself and your kids to dinner on the Thursday before your paycheck came in, because there was no food in your fridge, but you knew they'd gotten paid the previous Friday. You didn't offer to cut someone's grass, or help them move furniture, or babysit for free. You didn't do it, because you could pay someone else to do it, but in the trailer park that had been everyone’s reality. You shared what you had with people who didn't have enough, because you knew when the time came they would do the same. That was how you survived. 

"I know it's a lot to ask, but I need to-"

"It's fine," he cut her off. "When do you need it?"

Her face twisted apologetically. "In the morning? Before school? I need it all day."

"Sure." He took her hand up again. "I can walk."

Betty offered to drop him off, and pick him up, but he wouldn’t hear of it. The Teller’s, his foster family, only lived a mile and a half from the school. He would hoof it. 

"And you're going to pick the truck up how?" he asked as they slowed in front of her house.

"Archie can drive me over in the morning," she replied, twining her arms around his neck.

Something occurred to him. "Can't you borrow Fred's truck? That seems a lot easi-"

She cut him off by kissing him soundly, and with a little more fervor than she normally used in their regular goodbyes. 

"Text me when you get home," she said turning on her heel, and before he could protest she was already inside, smiling at him as she closed the front door. 

Something suspicious began to uncurl in his gut.

 

 

Betty called him during lunch period on Friday, and the first words out of her mouth were, "Please don't be mad."

"Okay?" he replied, instantly uneasy. "What am I not mad about?"

"Well," she said heavily, and in the long silence that followed he could just picture the way she was biting her lip, rolling it nervously between her teeth. That feeling of suspicion crept back in, but he didn't prompt her, and eventually she continued, "Your birthday is on Sunday."

The way his heart dropped into his stomach (and the way his stomach dropped right out of his body) was surprisingly violent, but the flash of anger he felt melted quickly into hurt. "Betty-"

"It's just you and me," she cut in remorsefully, "and a couple of really good movies. And maybe something a little better than stale movie popcorn."

"I happen to like stale movie popcorn," Jughead answered. He wanted desperately to believe her, but all he could think about was how betrayed he'd felt when he'd realized why she'd really wanted to leave the movie theatre this same time last year. He'd forgiven her for it, and they'd been able to move on without looking back, but she'd done more harm than good that night, and his feelings on birthdays hadn't changed a bit. "I don't know, Betts. I don't think..."

"I know," she said. "I know I messed up. And I know you don’t hold it against me, but I still feel really bad about what I did, and I just want a chance to give you the birthday you deserve - the birthday you wanted in the first place. Please, Jug."

She sounded so sincere, and so apologetic, and so very _Betty_. His heart stuttered a little, and something that felt dangerously, disgustingly like hope unfurled in his chest. It helped that she'd told him beforehand this time, but she also hadn't been completely honest either. "Is this what you need to truck for?"

"Yeah," she admitted guiltily, voice small. 

He could feel his jaw tightening. "You could have just told me."

"I know this is the exact wrong thing to say, but you would've just said no."

“Because we totally haven't set a precedent for that,” he said, the anger he was feeling finally creeping into his voice.

The silence that ensued told him the jibe had landed, and somehow he just felt worse. 

"Please," Betty said finally. "I love you. Please, just... trust me."

And the best, worst part was, he did. 

 

 

After lunch, the rest of his day had dragged. Pre-cal was tedious to begin with, but after Betty's phone call Jughead couldn't even pretend to concentrate. American Lit passed in much the same fashion, though he was marginally more engaged, and by the time he'd gotten to Spanish he was completely done. 

Abram and Ben had been kicking around the possibility of going back to Ben's house and digging in for a long evening of Borderlands, and they'd invited him and a couple of the other kids he'd gotten to know in the last few months. He was contemplating blowing Betty off to join them. He knew how badly it would hurt her, but he honestly didn't think they would survive a repeat of last year. She'd asked him to trust her, and since that night she'd given him very few reasons not to, even with everything that had gone down after FP's arrest. How deep would it cut her if he disappeared into the South Side for the weekend, hunkered down with a friend she'd never met (didn't even know about), and turned his phone off?

That he was even contemplating it was enough to tie his stomach in knots. 

Knots that didn't ease when the final bell rang, and his phone buzzed. _Come outside_ , Betty's text read. 

If he was going to bail, now was the time. 

She sent another text while he was staring at his phone screen. _Trust me_ , followed by a winking face emoji, a heart, and a lip print. From any of his other friends, emojis just made him roll his eyes - Veronica was the absolute worst - but coming from Betty it was sort of cute. He resolved to at least hear her out. 

"What's with the dumb smile?" Nora asked, sliding in between him and Ben in the hallway. "You texting Betty?"

On his other side, Abram laughed. "Looks like Jones might have something better to do this weekend."

"Fuck off, Abram," he said, still trying to look at his phone and navigate the teeming masses of students filing out of the school. With the upcoming weekend, the halls were rowdier than usual.

"Holy shit guys I think she's outside!" Nora exclaimed, attempting to grab his phone out of his hands. "Oh my god can we meet her?"

"Come on!" Abram wheedled when he made a face. "We're not gonna bite."

"We might if she asks," Ben quipped. "Have you seen her? She-"

"Hey," Jughead interjected before Ben could get any further. "I said fuck off."

Ben and Abram just laughed. "Awww," Nora cooed. "Guys, he likes her."

"That's sort of why we're dating, yeah," he said, finally pushing through the front doors and out into the bright sunlight. 

It wasn't hard to find Betty in the crowd, mostly because they were giving her a wide berth. She'd parked FPs truck right in front of the school, and was leaning against the passenger door, one foot propped behind her, wearing an outfit that was not at _all_ her usual wardrobe. If he was putting it down on paper, he'd have been tempted to say she'd dressed up by dressing down. She had on a white blouse that left both shoulders bare, the shortest denim skirt he'd ever seen in real life, and stacked black heels. She'd teased and curled her hair in a way that reminded him of Brigitte Bardot, and her lips were a bright, almost alarming shade of red. She was posed perfectly, the picture of ease, but he could tell by the set of her shoulders that it was all affected. 

When she finally picked him out of the crowd, the smile that lit up her face was brighter than the sun. His stomach lurched, and his heart jumped, and hadn't they been dating long enough that she wasn't supposed to be able to do this to him anymore? 

Ben gave a low whistle behind him. "You're not coming over, are you?"

"No," he said slowly, all but tripping down the front steps without looking back. "No I'm not."

Betty's smile stayed in place, but she didn't come to meet him. There was a small ring of empty space around her and the car, but it seemed like every single member of the student body was standing between them. He wanted to run to her, sweep her up in his arms, and he was man enough to admit that the only thing stopping him was the crowd. He was only half aware of his friends following him down the sidewalk. Why had he ever even entertained the idea of ditching her? Standing there by his father's old pickup, all made up just for him - somehow he knew it was just for him - she looked as close to heaven as he was ever likely to get. 

He didn't stop until he was close enough to put his hands on her waist. "What are you doing here?" he asked, too excited to be embarrassed about the eagerness in his tone. 

"Hopefully upping your street cred," she replied, blushing a little. Her left hand came to rest against his cheek, while her right arm wound its way around his waist, under his jacket. 

"Wow," he teased. "My street cred? Did those words just come out of your mouth?"

Betty's face flushed deeper, but instead of retorting she dragged him down into a harsh, open-mouthed kiss. Her hips surged against his, and then together they fell back against the passenger door. He had a hand in her hair, an arm around her waist, and she was everything he could taste and touch. Behind him, someone let out a loud whoop, and Betty stiffened in his arms but kept up the kiss for a few more seconds before pulling away. 

"Happy Birthday to me," he mumbled, pressing their foreheads together for a few blissful seconds. Betty laughed, and kissed his chin before pushing him gently away from her. 

Following her lead Jughead turned back toward the school, but kept an arm around her waist, hand resting on her hip. People had stopped staring, but Ben, Abram, and Nora were standing close by, all three of them wearing very similar shit-eating grins. 

"Well?" Nora said finally. "Is this her?"

"It had better be," Betty answered, glancing up at him before offering her hand. "I'm Betty."

Nora moved to take it but Ben beat her to the punch. "Hi," he said warmly. "Ben Morton. It's good to meet you, Betty. We've heard so little about you."

After a few long moments, Jughead reached out and gently extricated her from the awkward handshake Ben was still performing. "Betty, this is Nora, and Abram. We have some classes together."

"Ooh!" Abram exclaimed, clutching a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "Ouch! We don't even rate as friends at this point?"

"I wouldn't take it personally," Betty offered. "I've known him since first grade, and I wasn't even sure he knew my name until middle school."

"Ah, yes, the era of 'that girl' and 'Archie's friend'," Jughead said wistfully. 

Nora said, "No fruitpunch mouth."

Betty and Jughead exchanged a look. "What?" they said at the same time, eliciting a snort of laughter from both the boys. 

"Fruitpunch mouth," Nora said unhelpfully. "You just tried to suck each other's faces off. Why don't you both have epic fruitpunch mouth?"

"Oh!" Betty's eyes lit up despite her blush. "It's a lip stain. My friend found it on a Korean makeup website. Soap is pretty much the only thing that'll take it off."

Ben laughed again, and Abram said, "So you're telling me you can just put your mouth on an-"

"Don’t finish that sentence" Jughead broke in, his tone easy even as his arm tightened around Betty.

Betty fished the keys out of her back pocket and shoved them into Jughead's free hand. "We should probably get going anyways, Juggie."

"Thank God," he breathed, turning to open the passenger door for her.

"Wait," Ben said. "Wait, before you go, I have a motion to pass. I move that we never call Jones anything except 'Juggie' for the foreseeable future."

"Seconded," Abram and Nora chorused. 

"All opposed?"

Jughead raised his hand, then shot Betty a dirty look when she didn't follow his lead. "Seriously?"

 _Sorry_ , she mouthed, though the smile on her face said she was anything but. 

"It was nice to meet you," Betty said through the truck's open window as she closed the passenger door. 

"You too, Riverdale," Abram replied. "You kids have fun, now. Don't do anything Ben wouldn't do."

"Ben swallowed a dollar's worth of dimes once just to see if he could," Nora informed them. "I'd probably draw the line somewhere before that."

Betty was still laughing when Jughead climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "See you assholes Monday," he said by way of farewell. Betty waved politely, and then they were pulling away from the curb and sliding slowly into the after-school traffic.

 

 

They rode in companionable silence through the jam of cars surrounding Southside High. When they stopped on the corner, Betty slid over into the middle seat. In his peripheral, he watched as she rebuckled her seatbelt and settled her left hand over his thigh, her fingers spread wide and warm.

"I like your friends," she said finally. "They seem nice. They suit you."

"They're a bunch of dicks," he replied absently, looking in the rearview as he signalled to turn. "But I guess they're okay."

He could hear her smile in the ensuing sigh. "School's okay too? Classes still good?"

Jughead grimaced, both touched and annoyed. Grades had never been his favorite topic, especially in the last few years. Before his family had fallen apart, school had been an escape. He'd excelled in class, even as his behavior problems had escalated, and he'd gone into high school in the top 3%, which he'd been able to maintain until halfway through his freshman year - when his dad had well and truly spiraled. He hadn't realized what a sore spot it was until he'd been exiled to Southside. The graduation rate was so much lower, and the classes so much easier, and suddenly he was making As again, while exerting the same effort he'd been putting in at Riverdale. It felt a little like cheating, but he was willing to take any win he could get. The last year and a half had been hell. 

But Betty knew all that. He'd told her. That's why the questions had been so casual. "Classes are still good," he said, turning on to the main drag. "The counselors are pushing college apps and scholarships and other related shit. Our graduation rate is about sixty percent, and the college attending rate is even lower, so they're focusing most of their attention on the kids they think will make the cut."

For a long time the sound of the engine, and the other cars passing, was the only noise in the otherwise silent cab. When he chanced a glance over at her, she was gazing at him with a look of quiet appreciation. 

"What?" he asked the windshield, not wanting to take his eyes off the road for too long. 

In the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head, then her hand was on his cheek, cupping it gently as she leaned over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "That's you, huh?" she said finally.

He shrugged. "I guess."

Making a little noise of delight, she nestled under his arm. The hand on his thigh wrapped tight around his middle, and she hugged him close for the next few blocks. Her voice was warm, and bursting with pride, when she said, "Let me know if you want any help. Maybe we could keep each other company while we fill out forms."

There was a smile breaking on his face, but before he could say anything Betty was pointing. "No, take a right. We're gonna get on the highway, toward Greendale."

"Oookay," he said slowly. "What's in Greendale?"

Betty settled back into the seat, her fingernails scratching across his stomach before her hand settled again on his thigh. "An awesome used book store," she said. "And Cheryl's present."

 

 

It was a forty-five minute drive south down FM 130 to Greendale. Once they got on the highway, Betty cranked up the music - a playlist she'd been curating for months, she touted - and rolled both the windows down. She pulled his right arm around her shoulders and cuddled up close to his side, and they drove in companionable silence, letting the wind and the music dift through them. Creedence Clearwater Revival was blasting through the speakers, and her hand was on his stomach again, up under his shirt, running lazy lines back and forth above the waistband of his jeans. 

"You're wearing the jacket to school," Betty said between songs, apropos of nothing. 

Jughead took his arm back to turn the radio down, but she didn't shift away from him. There'd been nothing accusatory in her tone, and when he glanced down at her she returned his gaze with a gentle inquisitiveness. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't bother trying. Betty threaded her arm through his, her hand curling around his bicep while her head tilted this way and that, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. She didn't seem upset. 

"I'm just worried," she said eventually. "I don't know what it's like at Southside, but at Riverdale-"

"At Riverdale it's a target, " he finished for her. "I know."

"So what is it at Southside?" 

He took and deep breath, and blew it out hard enough to displace the curl lying against his forehead. "It's a lot of things. It’s like - like wearing a letterman jacket. No one messes with you because they know there’s someone at your back.”

“It’s armor,” Betty said softly. Her hand tightened on his arm, and she turned her face into his shoulder. 

He laid his hand on her leg, fingertips grazing the soft skin on her inner thigh, and squeezed. His palm was warm. “Yeah.”

She laced her fingers through his, and kissed the back of his hand. “As long as it does it’s job.” Then she pulled his arm back around her, and turned the radio back up. Peaceful Easy Feeling filled the cab, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

 

 

“Cheryl got me a bookstore?” Jughead said when they pulled up. “That’s surprisingly thoughtful of her.”

The store in question was situated in an old theatre. The unlit neon spindle still read “THE IRIS”, but the letters on the marquee spelled out “Books and Crannies”. He’d been there a few times before, twice with his mother and JB, and then once by himself. It was a large space, packed floor to ceiling with secondhand books, both common and obscure. There was a little community theatre still thriving on the second floor. He wondered if the fat black-and-white cat he remembered as a child was still prowling the property.

“Actually, I think she got you a gift card,” Betty responded, waiting for him to come around and open the door for her. He wasn’t sure where all the chivalry had come from (his father had certainly never been big on it) but the longer they’d dated, the more he’d doubled down. Betty had lived most of her life trying to make everyone else happy, and so he’d spent a long time thinking of all the small ways he could make her happy. He liked to hold doors for her, and carry her things. He knew she was perfectly capable of doing everything for herself - in truth, she was one of the strongest people he’d ever known - but it hurt him to know how alone she’d felt, and he’d silently promised himself that she wouldn’t have to do anything trivial if he could do it for her. 

When he pulled the passenger door open, she smiled up at him - the same sweet, loving smile she offered at every one of his gestures. Their earlier conversation played in his head, and the Serpents jacket suddenly felt a little heavier on his shoulders. Instead of taking her hand to help her down out of the cab, he cupped her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her. 

She mumbled his name into his mouth, caught off guard. “What’s wrong?” she asked when he pulled away. 

“Are we okay?” he asked. She could see the worry lurking behind his eyes as he searched her face. Unthinking, she reached out to stroke his forehead, trying to smooth the worry lines that had appeared. “You’re not… upset?”

“I’m not upset, Jug,” she said gently. “I’m not going to pretend I understand, but... I love you, and I trust you, and if you say it’s safe then that’s good enough for me. We’re okay.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, and smiled down at her. He was still holding her face, his thumbs stroking across her cheeks, so Betty grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him back down to kiss him again.

“Besides,” she said, climbing out of the truck. “It does look _really_ good on you.” 

Grabbing his hand, she hurried into the bookstore, pulling him along behind her but still unable to hide the way she was blushing. 

His first impression was the overwhelming smell of old paper and ink. The lighting was fluorescent and cheap, and the carpet obviously hadn’t been changed in the last twenty years, but the place was full to bursting, and every shelf was labeled in a meticulous, loving hand. The middle-aged woman behind the desk looked up at them as the bell on the door jingled, and Betty wasted no time. “We’re here to pick up a gift card,” she said, all but shoving him against the counter. 

There was a pair of glasses hanging around the woman’s neck from an elaborately beaded chain. She lifted these onto her face, and smiled at him. “What’s the name?”

“Jones,” he said, glancing back at Betty, who was beaming to put the sun to shame. “J. Jones.”

The woman, whose name tag he read Denise, frowned down at the card box she was rifling through. “Honey, I don’t see a J. Jones. I’ve got an F. P. Jo-”

“That’s me,” he broke in, shoving his ID at her. Betty let out a little laugh behind him. 

Denise just barely glanced at it, then smiled brightly and pulled an envelope out of the card box. “All right Mr. Jones. Here’s your gift card! The balance is three hundred dollars, and it expires never. Happy hunting!”

She turned back to the computer, but Jughead had stopped listening after she’d said _three hundred dollars_.

“Betty,” he hissed, grabbing the hand-written gift certificate and turning to face her. “Betty, I can’t take this.”

To her credit, the look on Betty’s face said she was as shocked as he was. She grabbed it out of his hand and gave it a good, solid frown. “Jesus, Cheryl,” she muttered. “I said fifty bucks.”

“Fifty bucks? You knew about this?”

Betty’s eyes darted up to meet his, but she looked away just as fast. “Of course I did. Why else would we be here? I didn’t think she’d-”

“Didn’t think she’d what? Play to type?” He couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his tone. It hadn’t even really felt like they were celebrating anything, until this had happened, but the sour feeling was back, turning his stomach into knots. “She’s a Blossom. If she’s being this generous, then she wants something, and whatever it is she’s not going to get it.”

Betty gave him a long, appraising look before sighing. Instead of doubling down with him, and backing his convictions, she pressed the paper gift card back into his hands. “I don’t think she wants anything, Juggie.”

He took it from her, then wrapped his hand around hers and refused to let go until she looked at him. “You seem awful sure about that.”

Instead of deflecting, Betty held his gaze and gripped his hand confidently. “I am. She’s being weird about it, but I think she’s trying to apologize. She’s been giving out crazy gifts the last six months. I think she’s misinterpreting something her therapist said, but there’s that whole thing about not looking a gift horse in the mouth, so...”

He took another look at the card. He knew Cheryl’s handwriting (like he knew a lot of people’s handwriting), and this had obviously been phoned in. “You know, the last time she did something like this-

“I know,” Betty said, letting go of his hand to touch his arm, “but I honestly don’t think this is… that. She made Archie take the Les Paul for Christmas.:

He couldn’t help the derisive laugh that jumped out of his mouth. “That’s different. She’s wants to get him in bed.”

“She gave Veronica that Fendi purse. The one from the Lucy Liu photo shoot in Cosmo,” she offered.

“I’m honestly not sure what that is,” Jughead replied, “but Veronica bought her that weird little wallet-” (a clutch, she offered) “-and it cost more than my family’s monthly grocery budget, so she was probably just returning the favor.” Betty made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, and something occurred to him. “So what did she get _you_?”

Betty had the good graces to look embarrassed. “Earrings.”

“That’s it?”

“Diamond earrings.” She grimaced, then pulled out her phone and scrolled through the pictures. “Three sets, in white gold. To replace the ones I always wear, because they’re ‘tired and boring’. Then she made me take a picture with them.” She handed him the phone and he couldn’t help laughing. There was Betty, holding up the tiny jewelry box, making the most uncomfortable face he’d ever seen. “And I can’t ever wear them because they cost more than all the other jewelry I own and whenever I put them on all I can think about is how I’m probably just going to lose them.”

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, still reluctant even with the mounting evidence. “This still feels a little weird. I’m not even sure where I’d keep all the books, anyways.”

“It’s weird because you’re not used to people doing nice things for you,” Betty said, wrapping an arm around his waist and nudging him gently in the direction of the stacks. 

“No, it’s weird because it’s Cheryl,” he retorted. “If this was from you-”

“If it was from me it would only have been fifty dollars, and you’d _still_ be telling me to save my money,” she interrupted. “It’s your birthday, Juggie. This is what your friends do to show you they’re glad you were born.”

His brow furrowed. “Cheryl and I aren’t friends.”

Betty laughed. “Well I wouldn’t tell her that. Who knows what she’d do to try and convince you.”

Jughead took another look at the gift card, took a deep breath, and made a valiant attempt to relax. It only sort of worked, but Betty must have felt the tension easing. She kissed his chin and said, “You can store some of the books at my house, if you want. It’ll give you an excuse to come see me.”

“Like I need one of those,” he said absently, realizing for the first time just _how many goddamn books_ there were in front of him. “This might take awhile.”

She was grinning ear to ear when he glanced at her. “We’ve got to be at Pop’s around 6:30, so you’ve got a couple hours.” She gave him a gentle nudge in the direction of the books. “Go spend your gift certificate.”

 

 

Betty disappeared after about half an hour. She touched his arm and told him to take his time, then went to curl up in one of the armchairs near the register. The black and white cat never showed, but there was a skinny little tabby who followed him up and down the rows, winding around his ankles and meowing softly. She butted her head against the toes of his boots, flopping over and demanding attention every time he stopped to pull a book out. He worked his way methodically through the nonfiction section, at first keeping a running total of the cost in his head, then not even bothering once he realized he’d pulled out twelve books and barely made a dent in his budget. There was a strange sort of giddiness overtaking him by the time he had enough books to necessitate dropping them at the register so he could keep browsing. Betty looked up from her copy of _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ , the smile on her face matching his own. 

On a whim, he turned toward the poetry section, and rifled through the selections until he found a small, well-worn volume of Love Poems, by Pablo Neruda. There was no inscription in the front, but it had been lovingly dog-eared, which somehow made it all the more endearing. He only hoped Betty would share that opinion.

The pocket-sized book stayed firmly on the bottom of the new stack of novels and autobiographies, which accumulated almost as quickly as the first stack had. He still couldn’t believe that he was only about half way through the fantasy/sci-fi section when Betty sidled up. He was totally unaware of her presence until she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his forehead. “We need to get going soon,” she said gently. “It’s 5:30.”

In the end, he bought thirty-eight books, and spent two thirds of his gift certificate. The poetry book was tucked safely into his jacket pocket, and Betty seemed to be none the wiser as she helped him haul the paper bags out to the truck. It wasn’t until they were depositing the books in the truck bed that he realized there were other things back there. 

“What’s with the blankets?” he asked as he helped her up into the cab. “And the overnight bag that I’m pretty sure is your middle-school backpack?”

“I might not be going home,” she said easily, “depending on how the night goes.”

There was something deliciously promising in her words, and he couldn’t help the stupid smile stretching across his face as he started the engine and pulled onto Main Street. There were more cars than there’d been when they arrived, but even with the after-work traffic it took them less than ten minutes to make the highway. Betty turned the radio back on, but kept the volume down this time. 

Something occurred to him. “Betts, the movie starts at seven. Are we gonna have time to eat?”

“We’re getting dinner to go,” she said. He glanced over to find her smiling breezily at the windshield. 

“I’m pretty sure they don’t let you bring outside food into the theatre.”

“Well,” Betty said, “It’s good we’re not going to the theatre then,” and leaned forward to turn the music up loud enough to drown him out. 

 

 

“Wait here,” she said when they pulled into the parking lot. Jughead started to fish his wallet out - Betty hardly ever let him buy her dinner, but he could at least pay for his own - but her hand on his wrist stilled him. “Uh-uh. Archie’s buying.”

He watched her go, waiting until she was safely inside, out of view, before letting the smile slip from his face. (Why was it so exhausting to pretend to be excited?) There was a little curl of fear in the pit of his stomach, and he was trying very hard to beat it back, because he trusted Betty - he did - and so far, the day had been good. Amazing, even. The bookstore had been a nice surprise; probably the first nice surprise he’d had in years. Riding in the car with her tucked under his arm, her fingers drifting up and down his thigh - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so simply, perfectly content. They’d spent the last year mostly apart, in different schools and neighborhoods, with different friends, and somehow they’d only gotten better. 

Jughead took a few long, deep breaths, trying to will his heart to slow down. He was worrying for nothing. No one knew him the way Betty did. She wouldn’t break his heart.

The sound of churning gravel drew him back into the moment. He tried to compose himself and paste the smile back on, but he must have failed, because Betty’s grin dropped clean off her face when they made eye contact. 

“What’s wrong,” she demanded through the passenger window. “What happened?”

He leaned over to open the door for her, and she climbed inside, scooting over into the middle seat and dropping the takeout bags beside her. “Hey,” she said gently, her hands finding his face. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Everything is - everything’s great. This is great - you’re great. I’m just… wondering if we shouldn’t quit while we’re ahead.” He watched her forehead crinkle in concern, and continued when she didn’t say anything. “I can’t help feeling like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m pretty sure you’re not the one who’s gonna drop it, but today has been too good for me to let the universe fuck it up.”

He thought she might cry, but then she took a shaking breath and smiled. “Okay,” she said softly, her hands falling away. “If that’s what you want.”

Jughead couldn’t help the surprise in his voice. “Just like that? You’re gonna let it go?”

She shrugged, trying gamely to mask her hurt and only just barely succeeding. Anyone else probably would have been fooled. Her voice was steady when she replied, “It’s your birthday, Jug. We can do whatever you want. I just want you to feel special.”

It was corny, but she was so sincere he couldn’t keep a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Betty, you want the whole world to feel special.”

“No,” she said softly, laying her head on his shoulder and slipping her hand into his. “Just you.”

“Oh my god,” he groaned, pulling away from her and leaning back against the door. He ran his hands over his face and into his hair, pushing his beanie off. “Oh my god, okay. Do you promise,” he held his hand out to her, pinky up, “on your unbreakable relationship with your sister, that you’re not taking me to a party with a whole bunch of people I don’t know? It’s just you and me and the burgers and the movies?”

Betty blinked the tears out of her eyes and turned to face him. She held her hand out to him, and linked their pinkies together. “I promise, on my unbreakable relationship with _you_ , that tonight is just you and me and burgers and movies.”

“Okay,” he breathed, and she surged forward to kiss him. Her arms came up around his neck, and and after half a second she was climbing into his lap. She held his face like he was something precious, something to be cherished, and he could only hope that his fingers splaying along her waist conveyed the same care.

She pulled away, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and said, “Scooch over.”

It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with his ears. “What?”

She laughed, and began to edge off him, the weight of her body pushing him toward the middle seat. “Move over. I’m gonna drive.”

 

 

“You should eat,” she said fifteen minutes down the road. “I know it’s been more than four hours since you ingested anything.”

He gave a perfunctory, “If you insist,” before digging into the take-out bags. There were six burgers, as many orders of fries, and four milkshakes - one each of chocolate, vanilla, cherry, and strawberry. He inhaled the burger, but went slower on the fries, watching Betty as she tried not to sing along too loudly to Foreigner’s _I Want To Know What Love Is_. She was smiling again, face bright, and glancing obsessively at her cell phone. He tried to snatch it out of her lap when the screen lit up with an incoming text, but she knocked it away, onto the floor boards, and then laughed when he started pouting. They were driving through the hills outside of town, on the road that would have lead to Thorn Hill, if Thorn Hill had still existed. 

“Are you bringing me out here to murder me and dump the body?” Jughead asked when she turned off onto a dirt road that had been almost invisible from the highway. 

Betty frowned . 

“All right, maybe given where we are, that was in bad taste. Sorry.”

On the floorboards, Betty’s phone began to ring. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Hold the wheel.”

“Maybe take your foot off the accelerator?” he suggested, grabbing for it as she rooted around under her seat. They weren’t going very fast, but the road was narrow and winding, with trees closing in on each side. “Betty? Brake?”

She answered the phone before she took the wheel back, which was only mildly horrifying. “We’re almost there,” she said to whoever was on the other end. “Everything set up?”

He tried to grab the phone again, but she pulled it out his reach and the car swerved almaringly. “Nothing,” she said into the receiver. “Juggie’s just trying to kill us.”

“That is completely misrepresentative of the facts,” he mumbled, crossing his arms to stare sullenly out the window. 

Betty, who didn’t seem to be listening, said, “We’re almost there.”

Jughead sat up a little as they rounded a bend in the road. Parked off to the left, about a hundred yards down, were Fred Andrew’s truck and Cheryl’s cherry red convertible. Archie was sitting on the truck’s hood. Veronica, Kevin, and Ethel were leaning against the side, all clustered around Ronnie’s phone and laughing at something on the screen. Cheryl was standing staunchly in the middle of the road, gazing in the opposite direction with her arms crossed. All five heads turned and smiled at the sound of the truck coming up. Four of those smiles were easy and genuine. Cheryl, as always, looked like she’d just bitten into a lemon and was trying to pretend she liked it.

“You pinky-promised,” he whispered when she shut off the music and pulled off the road. 

Betty unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over to kiss him. “They’re about to leave,” she said over Kevin and Veronica’s hollering. “They were just here to help out.”

They had only just climbed out of the truck before Archie was sweeping Jug up in a bone-crushing hug. “Happy birthday, man!” he said. What followed after was a long line of short hugs, though there was a much deeper level of sincerity woven throughout than had been present the last year. Cheryl was the only outlier; she put one arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek, so light it was barely there. 

“I hope you liked the bookstore,” she said airily. “I was going to get you an annotated manuscript, but Betty-”

“The bookstore was great,” he cut her off. “Thank you.”

“We helped set up,” Veronica offered. “Well, everyone else helped set up. Cheryl and I mostly donated equipment and organizational expertise.”

Ethel, ringing her hands together, said, “We think you’re really gonna like it.”

“You’re _really_ going to like it,” Kevin repeated, slinging an arm around Cheryl and completely ignoring the way her face twisted at his physical contact. “Betty is amazing.”

He shoved his hands down into his jacket pockets. “I’m the last person you need to say that to.”

Everyone shared a Look, and then Betty was shooing them back into their cars. There was another round of hugs and ‘Happy Birthday’s, and a long string of promises to call the next morning (mostly from Betty) and let them know how things had gone. She stood beside him, thumbs hooked in her skirt pockets as she watched them go, and then she was using the same tactics to usher him up into the passenger seat of the truck. She made to help him buckle his seatbelt - mostly as a joke, he hoped - and then the engine was turning over and they were pulling back onto the gravel road. 

They’d driven less than fifty feet before she did an alarming three-point turn. Even more alarmingly, she threw her arm across the back of the bench seat and pulled backwards onto another side road, this one even less tended than the first. 

“Eyes front, mister,” she said sternly, when he twisted around to watch the road she was backing down. “Don’t want to give away the surprise.”

He settled into his seat, facing the windshield. “I might if the surprise is driving into the river.” 

He’d barely finished speaking before Betty was braking. He tried to turn around again, but her right hand, still slung across the bench, grabbed his chin and gently forced his gaze forward again. “Nope,” she said. “We’re too close for you to ruin it.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “I have to admit I’m completely in the dark. You said burgers and movies, and we’ve got the burgers but-” He let the sentence drop when Betty climbed out of the car. There was music drifting through the windows, something cheery and familiar, and now that he was paying attention, there were lights - images - flashing across the trees he could see. The sun was setting, but in another forty minutes it would be full dark.

He started when Betty pulled the passenger door open, not realizing she was there. She took his hand and lifted it to her mouth, placing a lingering kiss in his palm. “Come here,” she said softly, threading her fingers through his and him out of the truck. His heart climbed into his throat. 

She led him around to the back of the pickup, then dropped his hand and - bless her - gave him some space. A few yards in front of him, someone had set up a card table and an electric generator. On the card table, hooked up to the generator, were a laptop and a digital projector. Strung between two trees a few dozen feet on, was a makeshift screen (probably a white bedsheet, by the look of it) where three little cups of ice cream were marching behind a popsicle. A leprechaun followed a rainbow to a treasure chest full of candy, popcorn, and soda. Colorful animated banners proclaimed the intermission, exactly as they had at the Twilight. 

The image blurred, and for a moment he thought the projector had gone out of focus. It wasn’t until Betty was pressing against his back, her arms slipping around his waist, that he realized he was blinking back tears. 

“I was thinking about the drive-in,” she said against his shoulder, “and how we never got to have a date there. We would’ve parked in the very last row, or off to the side, where it’s dark. Climbed in the back seat.” Jughead took a deep, shuddering breath, and her arms tightened around him. “I thought it would be nice. It’s okay if you don’t like it. I know one good birthday doesn’t make up for years of crappy ones, but I was hoping maybe we could start a new movie tradition.”

He wanted to say _yes, absolutely, it’s perfect_ but the words got stuck behind the lump in his throat. The early autumn air was cooling with the sunset, but Betty Cooper, in her denim skirt and her thin white blouse, was blazing hot behind him. There was a purposeful tension in her limbs as she held on to him, and he knew what she was trying to convey - love and care, deep devotion, and everything he was feeling as he took in what she had planned for him. The words stuck, so instead he turned into her embrace, buried his face in her hair, and held onto her as tightly as he could, hoping his actions would say what his voice couldn’t. “I love you,” he mumbled, lips brushing against her temple. “God, Betty, I love you.”

 

 

A single loud, trilling bird call woke him up just after four in the morning. It was still full dark, and the air around him was cold and wet. There was a long, disorienting moment where he couldn’t place his surroundings - tall trees, a small circle of light driving back the complete blackness, something hard and ridged underneath him. It wasn’t until Betty shifted against him, tucking herself more securely into his side, that the memories came flying back. 

Betty singing him happy birthday over a cupcake with a single candle in it, kissing his face with tears in her eyes when he’d produced the book of poems.

Betty, curled close in the circle of his arms, her face turned into his chest while Freddy Kruger terrorized a young Johnny Depp. (“You have to promise to hold me as tight as you can,” she’d demanded when he’d made his movie choices.)

Betty, poised above him, her hips rocking against his, one hand on his chest for balance, eyes closed tight, mouthing _yes, god, like that, i love you, i love you_ …

Betty falling asleep halfway through Friday the Thirteenth, her head heavy on his shoulder.

Even with the five blankets - two under them to pad the truck bed, and three for warmth - he was uncomfortably cold. He’d given Betty his jacket, and kept his flannel, but the early autumn air was chilly, and even though he knew she was sound asleep, she was shivering slightly. He decided to take her home. 

(It wasn’t home; not really , not anymore. But someone had been paying the rent on the trailer, along with the electric and gas, and it was nice to have a safe place to escape to. His foster family was decent, but the house was crowded with other kids, and it was hard to breathe, let alone think, under their three-bedroom roof. He still had his keys to the trailer.)

When he shook Betty awake, she protested like a grumpy child. After several minutes of arguing, he’d wrapped her in a blanket and piggybacked her from the bed to the cab - she’d refused to put her heels back on, and he wouldn’t let her walk through the dirt barefooted - where she had fallen immediately back asleep. It was only a few minutes of work to pack up all the equipment, though he’d left the sheet, unsure how to get it down and not wanting to make an attempt with so little light. Betty had grumbled and argued when he’d made her sit up and put a seatbelt on, but he hadn’t been driving for more than two minutes before she was asleep again, head resting against the window. 

When they reached the trailer park, he decided to unload the truck first. The digital equipment, the blankets, his books, and Betty’s overnight bag were all shuffled summarily into the living room. Betty whined when he woke her up (she’d been laying down across the bench seat in the cab), but didn’t protest too much when he carried her over the gravel and set her down on the porch. He kept an arm around her waist, guiding her inside, and locked the door before he deposited her on the bed. He wanted to take a shower, but was overwhelmed by the need to be beside her, so he settled for splashing some water on his face, brushing his teeth, and pulling on some clean boxers and a pair of sweats. 

“Hi,” she said sleepily when he pulled the covers back to crawl in beside her. She’d stripped down to her underwear and put on one of his flannels, only bothering with a few of the buttons. “Good birthday?”

He tugged the blankets back over them, and pulled her close. “Best birthday.”


End file.
